keeping' with the HOBBES family, is despatched after Faithful by
Deliverance, in these dulcet-words: 'Remarky, I wish you'd go down
to Goody Peabody's and look after the minister that ate supper
here. I notion that he's forgot that it's time for him to come back
and pray, before we go to bed.' Remarkable and her errand were
not very courteously received. Goody Peabody said 'she admired
what business such a long-shanked, ill-conditioned, bitter-looking
body as she, had to be snooping about other people's houses at
that time of night; that Faithful was going to keep company with
her daughter PATIENCE; that Remarkable had better return to her
employer; adding, that if she didn't troop in less than no time,
she would see if her help, PRESERVED PERKINS, couldn't help her.'
Remarkable, after a series of adventures, arrives at home, and
reports progress. Deliverance and her daughter Beautiful receive
the intelligence of the defection of the minister in a paroxysm of
anger and mortification; which ends in Beautiful's falling back in
violent contortions, exclaiming that she is 'bewitched by Patience
Peabody!' The village of Salem, it should be premised, was at
this period in a woful state of perturbation, if we may believe
COTTON MATHER, who tells us that 'the devils were walking about
the streets with lengthened chains, making a dreadful noise in our
ears; and brimstone, even without a metaphor, was making a horrid
and an horrible stench in our nostrils. And whoever,' he adds,
'questions any of these things, I hold to be a person of peculiar
dirtiness.' If we may believe MATHER, therefore, the 'Prince of the
Air' and his imps, with an innumerable host of spectres, phantoms,
apparitions, and hobgoblins, were let loose upon this devoted place,
and at the instigation of old women, potent in witchcraft, were
playing their damned pranks upon the inhabitants. Some delighted to
stick pins and forks in the tender flesh of innocent babes. Others
would grievously torment poor damsels, buffeting and tossing them
about in a most lamentable manner. Sometimes they would cause the
most serious and sober-minded persons to babble forth unutterable
nonsense in all the known languages of the earth, except the
Iroquois, in the which, it is said, the devil himself hath no
skill. At others, they would excite the worthy townsmen, yea, even
the selectmen themselves, to cut the most strange and fantastic
capers; performing those evolutions which the Greeks call [Greek:
kuzisan] and [Greek: ekkuzisan], now upon their heads they would
dance aërial hornpipes and fandangos; and anon going upon all fours,
they would bark like a pack of hounds, or bray like a troop of
jack-asses. Beside this, brutes, and even inanimate matter, were the
subjects of wicked sorcery: gridirons, shovels, and frying-pans,
clattered and rang, though touched by no mortal hand; spits before
the fire would fly up the chimney in the twinkling of an eye, and
anon coming down again, stick in the back-log in a spiteful and
portentous manner; and three-legged stools, slipping on one side,
would laugh to see the matron whom they had eluded, lie sprawling
on the ground. Naughty children would feign themselves bewitched
by some person against whom they had taken an antipathy, and would
kick, sprawl, and bellow, with wonderful agility, until they had
succeeded in moving the tender hearts of judge and jury, and had the
satisfaction of seeing poor Irishwomen hanged, whom their brogue
convicted of infernal colloquies, or some poor old lady ducked and
drowned, whom an unlucky squint showed to be possessed of an evil
eye. In short, the whole country was in an eminently distressed and
bedevilled predicament; and Beautiful Hobbes was a decided victim. A
universal twitching assailed her joints; a sheeted paleness usurped
her smoke-dried cheeks; the purple faded from the tip of her nose,
and the color of her eyes became a dingy yellow; and she exclaimed,
amid sobs and hiccups, 'Mother, there is a ball in my throat, and
Patience Peabody hurts me!' And she continued to roar lustily, and
pray for deliverance from her tormentor. Early next morning the
Justice of the County Court is informed that there is a decided
case of malignant witchcraft at Goody Hobbes's, where he is wanted
immediately, in his judicial capacity. Accompanied therefore by the
sheriff, and COTTON MATHER and his son, he straitway repairs to the
scene of bewitchment: 'When they arrived there, the room was full
of people. Deliverance and Remarkable were keeping guard on each
side of the bed in which lay Beautiful, who, as soon as the Justice
entered, uttered a terrible screech, and fell into hysterics.
Mr. Mather junior then walked up to the bed, and passed his hand
over the coverlid. They asked him what he felt? He said there was
something supernatural there, resembling a rat, and quickly withdrew
his fingers, having received a scratch quite across his hand. The
mob were now, by command of the Justice, turned out of the room,
and Mr. Mather senior made a prayer of half an hour's length;
Deliverance every now and then giving her daughter a spoonful of
brandy, to keep her quiet. When the prayer was concluded, Beautiful
was told to say Amen; but she only made a muttering sort of noise,
which sounded more like an imprecation than any thing else. After
many ineffectual attempts, they gave over asking her to repeat the
word; and the Justice asked her, 'Who hurt her?' She then answered,
glibly enough, 'Patience Peabody; she sticks pins in me; and there
is her spectre!' This was enough for the Justice, who ordered the
sheriff, in a magisterial tone, to seize and hold the body of
Patience Peabody until farther notice, at the same time calling
out of the window to one of the crowd around the house, to go down
to Dr. DRYBONES, and request his immediate presence. The messenger
found that worthy functionary taking his morning walk in the
grave-yard which adjoined his dwelling. 'He was a lank, long-visaged
figure, skinny and withered up in his person, and who bore a
considerable resemblance to one of his own dried preparations. One
would imagine from his appearance that he had become assimilated
to the spot where he usually perambulated; and where it was said
he had sent the greater number of his patients, as if to have them
under his more immediate charge.' Dr. Drybones repairs forthwith
to the possessed mansion, in a parlor of which the Squire and the
two Mathers are awaiting him. After the first salutations, they all
repair in a body to the chamber where Beautiful was lying, engaged
in her gymnastic exhibitions:
'THE Doctor, at the head of the 'posse comitatus,' advanced
solemnly up to the bed-side, and protruding his long skinny
hand, took hold of the maiden's wrist between the fore-finger
and thumb, with the true Esculapian gripe. Then closing his
eyes, and holding in his breath, as if to condense all his
sensibilities to the ends of his fingers, he began counting
the pulsations. In about half a minute he pronounced, in a
solemn, sepulchral tone, at each pause pouting out his lips, and
smacking them in a curious manner: 'Pulse slow, and frequent;
indicating a congestion of the cerebrum, and general plethora,
together with a phlogistic diathesis; you understand me,
Squire.' 'Oh, perfectly, perfectly; exactly so, Doctor,' replied
the Justice, putting on one of his wisest looks; who, though he
knew no more than a brewer's horse how a pulse could be slow
and at the same time frequent, and also how this indicated a
congestion of the cerebrum, yet did not like to confess his
ignorance. 'And observe, Squire,' continued the Doctor, who had
been lately reading a work on Nosology, and wished to show off
a little before the Justice, 'observe, I say, the dilatation
of the pupils, and the twitchings of the muscles, and the
tossing of the extremities, and the spasmodic affection of the
diaphragm, and the tetanic symptoms; you understand me, Squire;
a very curious and complicated case, Squire.' The Justice, who
at each stop in the Doctor's speech, had put in his usual 'Just
so; exactly so; satanic symptoms, no doubt, Doctor;' coincided
in this opinion. He also added that he had discovered the witch,
and issued a warrant for her apprehension. Mr. Mather senior
now came forward, and with a sneering and sarcastic expression
of countenance, proposed, that as the Doctor understood the
symptoms so well, he should exert himself a little to relieve
them; at the same time insinuating that drugs and doctors were
mere flea-bites, when opposed to witchcraft. 'Certainly,'
replied the Doctor, in his deliberate tones, 'certainly, friend
Mather, I shall do to the utmost of my poor abilities to fulfil
the nineteen indications which offer. Of which the first is
phlebotomy; the second a cleansing emetic; the third a saline
cathartic; the fourth a potent anti-spasmodic; the fifth a
relaxing sodorifie; the sixth----' 'Now may Satan take both you
and your nineteen indications!' interrupted Mather senior, who
was much offended by this pedantic and conceited speech; and
whose indignation was vehemently aroused by his being called
'friend Mather,' which he considered a downright insult, he
having a most horrible antipathy to Quakerism. 'I tell you
what, Drybones,' continued he, 'you are a person of a shallow
wit, and small capacity for understanding these things; and
touching the wonders of the invisible world, I hold you to be
little better than an ass. Here Mather junior put in his oar,
saying that Drybones was a quack, and an ignoramus, and that he
would not trust him to bleed his cow. Drybones, however, who
possessed a happy share of equanimity, and who prided himself
upon his imperturbable countenance, paid no manner of regard to
these discourses; but pulling out an enormous fleam-lancet, and
turning to the Justice, exclaimed: 'Now by the blessing of God,
will I open the jugular of this damsel!' Then calling for three
small porringers, and setting the spring of his lancet, the edge
of which he tried upon his thumb-nail, he advanced boldly up to
the bed.'
The MATHERS interposed, however, and 'prevented the effusion of
blood;' it being considered by the strict Puritans as much a matter
of heresy for a doctor to interfere with a case of witchcraft, as
it is for a physician at the present day to treat one of canine
rabies by what is called 'regular practice.' The Justice and the
MATHERS, after the doctor had left the house, departed together,
discussing on their way many serious topics and profound questions
concerning witchcraft, sorcery, enchantments, good and bad spirits,
apparitions, and such grave matters; in which the elder MATHER
displayed so much and such various learning upon his general theme,
that it quite overpowered the Justice; who at last interposed,
saying, petulantly: 'Well, for my part I don't know nothing about
these things, and always did. A little law is all that I know.'
The Squire having arrived at home, is informed by the sheriff
that he has Patience in custody; when, accompanied by his 'divine
friends,' the man of law proceeds with magisterial dignity to his
hall of justice, where he finds a great mob of people, and hears the
dolorous shrieks of sundry frantic-looking women, which he finds on
inquiry to proceed 'from Abigail Williams and her gossips, who are
roaring out because Patience hurts them.' 'Ha!' said the Justice,
'I begin to smell a rat. That Abigail Williams has borne testimony
in every case of witchcraft that has occurred in this town since
the beginning of the troubles thereof; and if she had been pinched,
and pricked, and bruised, half so much as she says she has, she
must have been a corpse long ago.' 'Pray, young woman,' said he,
addressing himself to Patience; 'what is the matter with Beautiful
Hobbes?' 'I do not know,' said Patience; 'I reckon she is crazy.'
'But why does she cry out against you, for putting the black man
upon her?' 'I do not desire to spend my judgment thereon,' answered
she. The worthy magistrate seemed puzzled what to say next, and
turning to Doctor Mather, inquired, 'what was his judgment touching
the question, whether the devil could torment in the shape of a
virtuous person?' Mather made answer, 'that he should be proud to
communicate his poor opinion thereof at a more seeming time; but
held it best, under correction, to proceed with the business in
hand.' 'Well,' said the Squire, 'I believe there is no more to be
said. I must make out this young woman's mittimus, and have her
confined until the grand jury sit.' Faithful interposes for his
lady-love, remonstrates against her imprisonment, and offers to
undertake to make Beautiful repent her accusations before night,
if he might be allowed a private interview with her; at which
proposition MATHER expressed himself shocked, and severely reproved
Faithful for desiring to have infernal communication with a woman
accused of witchcraft. When the Justice and his reverend guests had
gone back to discuss the question, whether the devil could torment
in the shape of a good man, the crowd proceeded to the sheriff's
house, the women ranting, roaring, and screaming; the bedevilled
Abigail Williams, among the rest, walking as if afflicted by Saint
Vitus, screeching in the most painfully distressing tone, and ever
and anon falling into apparent convulsions; the mob the while
mingling their groans and dolorous wailings, as if Pandemonium had
broken loose in good earnest, and Satan had come again upon the
earth like a roaring lion. Meantime Faithful bends his way to Dame
Hobbes's, to remonstrate with the possessed Beautiful. He reaches
the mansion:
'WITH a trembling hand he ventured to open the door, after he
had knocked several times in vain. Through the smoke which
filled the apartment, he saw the elder female seated by the
fireside, with her chin resting on her palms, and a stump of
a pipe in her mouth. Remarkable was lying, seemingly dead
drunk, upon the floor, and snoring like fifty bull-frogs; and
Beautiful, in a short gown and petticoat, was sitting on the
side of the bed, discussing a large bowl of bean-soup. The old
woman took no notice of Faithful, but continued smoking her
pipe with great sang-froid; but the eyes of Beautiful twinkled
with emotion at his appearance. With a mixed expression of
countenance, where pleasure and surprise at beholding the
preacher curiously blended with the bitter twist given her
visage by the hot soup, she motioned him to sit down beside
her. He obeyed with the dubious air of one who seats himself
with a half-formed resolution of suffering the extraction of a
grinder. She edged up to him, and asked him if he would have
some soup; but he declined the offer with a graceful wave of
the hand, telling her that he came to have a little private
conversation with her. At this, Beautiful told him to say what
he had to say, as Remarkable was too drunk, and her mother too
sleepy, to overhear him. The preacher now commenced a long and
animated expostulation with the damsel, on her conduct, in which
he mingled threats and promises, reproofs and entreaties, in a
subtle and orator-like manner. Beautiful at first heard him with
great impatience, and seemed convulsed with inward emotion; now
stifling a rising sob, and now gulping down a spoonful of the
soup. He at last seemed to hit upon an argument that fixed her
attention; for all at once she became quite calm, and as soon
as he had finished, wonderful to relate, promised to behave
herself, and not be bewitched any more. Upon this he departed,
telling her that the Justice was coming in the evening to see
how she did, and bidding her be careful, and mind what he had
told her.'
Accordingly, when evening arrives, Faithful accompanies the Justice
and the sheriff to Goody Hobbes's mansion, which the 'visiting
party' enter with faces as long and serious as if they had come to
a funeral. The Justice breaks silence, by asking Beautiful how she
finds herself, to which she responds, 'I notion I feel better this
evening, and am not bewitched any more.' 'Then,' quoth the Justice,
'I guess you was crazy this morning.' 'I guess I was,' answers
Beautiful. The final result is, that Patience Peabody is liberated,
and Remarkable Short and Preserved Perkins, who have 'conspired
against the general peace,' cut a remarkable figure in the stocks;
where, being obliged to endure each other's company for two hours
side by side, they contracted an affection for that position; 'their
passions vacillated from the extreme of hate to that of love; a
sneaking partiality arose between them; Preserved afterward married
Remarkable, and a curious couple they were.' Faithful carried
back his blooming bride, with whom he lived a long life of peace
and innocence. 'They had thirteen children; the first was called
Welcome, and the last Content; and their posterity inherit the land
to this day.'
* * * * *
MANY of our readers, who never had the good fortune to hear the
elder KEAN, will thank us for the annexed striking picture by SANDS,
of his personation of Shylock, in 'The Merchant of Venice.' It was
written for the 'Literary Journal,' a thin monthly pamphlet, which
closed its very brief existence some twenty-five years ago:
'KEAN's manner in the first part is that of the miserly,
calculating Jew; and it is not until the entrance of Antonio,
that we suspect him of aught worse than usury. The sight of
Antonio kindles his hatred, and he exclaims, 'Cursed be my
tribe, if I forgive him!' We tremble for the merchant, and
shudder, as with a sudden change of countenance he smooths the
wrinkle of hate from his brow, and turns to his victim with,
'Rest you fair, good Signior.' The speech in which he recounts
the bitter scorn, the personal indignities he has received from
Antonio, was finely given. It was not said entirely in anger;
beneath his indignation could be discerned a malignant pleasure;
and when he said, 'Well, then, it now appears you need my help,'
his eyes seemed to flash with ferocious joy. The conciliating
and jesting manner he assumed while settling the terms of the
contract, was admirable, and the performance of the whole scene
was without a fault. The passage most deserving praise, in the
next act in which he appears, is the trembling eagerness with
which he receives the news of Antonio's loss, as he exclaims,
almost breathless: 'What, what, what! Ill luck, ill luck?' And
even, while in his impious rapture, he thanks God, he still
doubtingly asks, 'Is it true; is it true?' But it is in the
trial scene that this gifted actor puts forth his strength.
With what an unmoved air he listened to the Duke's exhortation
to be merciful! His reply was not spoken with violence, in the
loudness of anger, but with a horrid calmness in a subdued but
chilling manner; and he asked, 'Are you answered?' in a tone of
bitter irony. So fiendish a countenance we wish never to look
upon, except when we know it is assumed, as when he sharpened
the ready knife, and cried with a serpent hiss, 'To cut the
forfeiture from that bankrupt there!' We almost quaked before
the glance of his demon eye, as he seemed to gloat upon his
victim. As he gazed on Antonio, his lips were slightly curled
by the bitter smile of satisfied malice; his eyes were bright
and distended with the joy of his revengeful anticipations;
yet he neither spoke nor moved. We pass over many points, to
notice his answer to Portia's suggestion, of sending for a
surgeon, lest Antonio bleed to death. 'Is it so nominated in the
bond?' And the expression with which he raises his eyes from
the paper, and says, with a smile which a devil might own, 'I
cannot find it--'tis not in the bond.' As the court proceeds to
award the sentence in his favor, his face becomes lighted by
exultation; his whole form seems to throb with joy; he bares
his hands, and grasps the knife, with convulsive eagerness. But
who can do justice to the sudden transition of his manner, the
horror-struck, doubting air, the fixed rigid countenance, with
which he hears the forbidding clause? When he finds utterance,
it is but a sentence of four words which he pronounces. But how
are they pronounced! The fingers which had clenched the knife
gradually unloose their grasp, and fall nerveless and slowly by
his side; the disappointed, dejected, almost exhausted tone,
in which he with difficulty articulates 'Is that the law?'
Surely this was the perfection of acting. We have beheld COOKE's
representation of this character with delight, and have dwelt
upon it with pleasure. But, great as it was, compared to KEAN's,
it appears a cold performance. Indeed, Mr. KEAN approaches
nearer to GARRICK than any actor since his time. KEMBLE has more
majesty; COOKE possesses more physical power, and though not a
good, yet a finely-modulated voice. COOPER has great advantages
both of person and voice; but they are all deficient in that
astonishing variety of expression, that power of reaching men's
hearts, and causing them to tremble, which distinguishes Mr.
KEAN.'
KEAN's power over the feelings of his audiences seems scarcely to
have been surpassed by any actor that ever trod the stage. Hosts of
admirers speak of him even now with unabated enthusiasm.
* * * * *
THE subjoined beautiful reflections and yet more admirable poetry
are from an essay based oddly enough upon a version of one of the
monosyllabic poems of AUSONIUS; a string of verses, in which the
last monosyllable of each line forms the first of the next, and
the first is the same as the last; so that they may be read over
and over again without end. 'We take it,' writes SANDS, 'as a
good motto for a paper which we mean to write, without having any
precise notion on what subject we shall descant. We mean to make, on
something or other, 'a few plain and practical remarks,' as the Rev.
Mr. ---- says, when he means to preach a sermon five quarters of an
hour long.' The paper thus lightly commenced, closes as follows:
'A MAN who lives out his threescore and ten years, or lingers
beyond that period, must, in the common course of events, see
the ordinary revolutions affected by time and death. At the
middle of his career, he sees a flourishing family around
him; friends and connections formed in his advancing course;
attachments begun in sympathy, and cemented by interest. He
lives on; and his children are scattered by the accidents of
mortality, and their graves are in different countries. His
friends have vanished from their former haunts, and the places
that knew them, now know them no more for ever. 'He asks of the
solitudes, where are they? and the hollow echo answers, Where?'
There is no one to sympathize with his remembrances of the past;
his infirmities become a grievance, or he thinks them so, to
those around him; and he still feels that lingering attachment
to life, which answers the philosopher's question, _an mors
malum sit_, with the powerful evidence of consciousness. Hope
and Memory delude the pilgrim in his journey, by the false
colors with which they paint the scene before and behind him.
'Man never is, but always to be blest;' and as the future,
depicted by the fancy only, presents unmingled visions
of delight, the past, mellowed by time, loses the little
inconveniences which jarred discordantly with the passing
music of pleasure; and its remembrance makes us regret what
when present we neglected. It was under the influence of such
reflections, that the following lines were composed. They were
written in a prophetic hour by one who died young, and willing
to depart:
DELUSIVE world! whose phantom throng
Still flit, with juggling smiles, along,
To cheat the aching sense;
Where, as in man's primeval tongue,
Joy hath no present tense!
Joy, decked in unsubstantial hues,
The impatient fool for e'er pursues,
Till when the form is nigh,
The enchantress fair no more he views,
And all her colors fly.
But lo! 'tis there! 'tis there, again!
He starts anew, on quest as vain--
The enchantress is not there!
But like a vampyre from the tombs,
Behind, once more, the form assumes
Its station in the air.
Thus Hope and Memory still delude;
Now with the future's fancied good,
Now with the fancied past;
Till comes eternal night to brood
Above them both at last!
While thus I mused, I heard a voice
Of sweet and solemn tone:
'O child of clay!' it said, 'rejoice,
Nor woo despair alone.
'For know thine age hath reached its prime:
There is a race of men
Who do but hail life's summer-time,
And sink to earth again.
With one swift flame their being burns,
And soon their dust to dust returns'--
Blest Spirit! tell me--when?
Again the voice of music spoke:
'There is a happier sphere,
Where neither hope nor memory mock,
Yet joy is present there;
And dreaming souls to bliss have woke'--
Blest Spirit! tell me--where?
'Thou may'st with equal eye behold
Hours, days, and years behind thee rolled,
Grasping each present Now;
Nor dread the moment yet to come,
Nor weep o'er pleasure's mental tomb'--
Blest Spirit! tell me--how?
* * * * *
ALTHOUGH we find ourselves 'at the end of the tether,' we
cannot resist the inclination to present the following forceful
lines. Possibly the sentiment may be deemed heretical by the
very imaginative and the young; but even such, if tasteful and
discriminating persons, cannot choose but admire the melody of the
verse, and the beauty of the imagery:
THE POETICAL CHARACTER.
IN fiction's devious wilds the heart misled,
To dull reality ungrateful turns;
Substantial earth's fair plains untempting spread,
And day's blest beam with light unlovely burns.
Yet not all Fancy's dreams, most wild and bright,
Are worth one day of Comfort's calm routine;
And simple Truth, attired in vestal white,
Transcends her starry front and garments' sheen.
And constant woman's fond and glowing kiss,
And heaven's own workmanship of mortal charms,
Are worth whole ages of imagined bliss,
Lost in ideal Beauty's airy arms.
The monster brood that cloudy spectre bore
To rash Ixion, deem not half so vain
As the fond progeny of minstrel lore,
Nursed in the womb of a distempered brain.
Why float these visions of delusive birth
Before the wanderers on the wastes of time,
Ordained to tread the firm, unyielding earth,
Nor yet the spires of heaven forbidden climb?
Is it that the soul divine, imprisoned here,
Beyond its dungeon bars essays to roam,
O'erleaps the due progression to its sphere,
Sees forms and shadows of its destined home?
Or, lost to innocence, to truth, to Eden,
Did our dark curse not quench each early ray,
But leave its broken beams, to light unbidden
The checkered mazes of the exile's way?
WE have not exhausted the stores which our obliging friend of 'the
Confederacy' has placed at our disposal. When we have more space, we
shall resume the desultory series which we are compelled to bring
abruptly to a present conclusion.